


never fallen from quite this high (into your ocean eyes)

by softsocky



Series: socky shorts [6]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Fluffy I guess, M/M, Short & Sweet, also there's like nO dialogue in this, cliche and gross, not a lot happens here tbh i just had this on my mind and needed to get it out there, sorry about the shitty updates btw moving is harder than i remember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 17:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12940575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/pseuds/softsocky
Summary: Minhyuk wasn't renowned for his crying.





	never fallen from quite this high (into your ocean eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> title from the BEAUTIFUL song 'ocean eyes' by billie eilish. definitely go [give it a listen!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viimfQi_pUw)

Minhyuk wasn’t renowned for his crying. In fact, he cried so little, that it was a running joke in the group that he didn’t possess a single emotional bone in his body. And they’d probably be right, had Sanha not seen otherwise. Minhyuk _was_ renowned, however, for his _shyness._ Or rather, not shyness, but his reservedness, his silence in interviews and gigs forming a shrouded persona around him that didn’t make total sense to Sanha when they were alone. Though this persona occasionally bled into his everyday life, the bitter aftermath of a performance or event seeping through his skin. Sometimes, though, when it all became a little too metallic, a bit too heavy in his arteries, Minhyuk would _snap_.

Maybe not _snap_ – Sanha could never describe Minhyuk as _broken_ – so perhaps _bend_ was a better word. He’d bend and fold to suit what the fans chanted at him, what the media plastered on about him. And eventually, over time, he’d succumb to it, even when the cameras had stopped rolling. It was hard, Sanha found, to comfort someone who often felt like they were losing themselves in the crowd that cheered for them. Minhyuk had developed mechanisms to cope with his stress, but where there is human, there is error – and sometimes it doesn’t _work._

And when that happened – when things didn’t _work_ for him – Minhyuk’s bones would weep and sob and bathe itself in melancholy. It was in these moments that no one could deny that Minhyuk had _feelings._ Just, he never really showed them to the outside world, to anyone outside Sanha himself.

It was a blessing and a curse, really. Sanha found that being best friends with someone so entirely trusting of him with their closed-off emotions was both an honour and a burden, for he wasn’t well-versed in advice having experienced so little himself, and he felt unworthy of such trust at the best of times. But he pushed on, and it payed off, because when Minhyuk bent and bled out on the floor in a pool of throat-clenching sobs, he _felt_ it. He felt the clench in this own throat, the way he felt like his heart was suffocating and his brain was losing oxygen. He thought he was dying because of the way his eyesight blurred, but after the first few times, Sanha had just realised he was crying along with the older boy.

 

He wouldn’t call it the first time he’d seen Minhyuk cry – he was sure he’d seen tears in his eyes that time he thought he’d snapped his ankle, or the time his family came for a surprise visit – but he’d never seen him cry quite like this before. Sanha was repulsed to find out that Minhyuk had never seen _The Notebook,_ one of Sanha’s personal favourites ever since his childhood best-friend forced him into watching it. It was cliché and sappy and somewhat mindless, all qualities Sanha loved in a romance film, and everything Minhyuk avoided. But he strapped the boy down with his long legs and a bowl of popcorn with icing sugar – the way he liked it best – and forced him to watch the movie with earnest. Somewhere near the end, when Sanha was crying already, knowing what to expect, he glanced over at the boy beside him.

The boy was snuggled up into the blanket he’d pulled from his bed well before the movie had started, and the popcorn bowl sat empty between them. Minhyuk’s fingers were twisting and pulling at the seams of the throw, and his eyes, _his cheeks,_ were wet and glossy under the moving lights of the television. His bottom lip was trembling, threatening a sob or a whine, Sanha wasn’t sure – all he was sure of was that the older boy was going to strain his muscles if he didn’t release the blanket soon, so he grabbed his fidgety wrist, dragged it down towards him, and placed his restless fingers in-between his. This seemed to have the opposite affect though, to what Sanha had wanted. Rather than _comfort_ , it seemed to make it worse – and by the time the film credits began to roll, he was tucked up into Sanha’s side, face pressed into his neck, weeping so loudly all Sanha could do was hold him.

 

The second time had been a little different, though so much harder. It was four o’clock in the morning when his phone buzzed on the bedside table, and Sanha was so angry at the disruption, that he almost didn’t answer it. But when he glanced at the caller ID, seeing _MinMin_ flashing and the dorky photo of him he’d attached, he knew something was wrong.

Minhyuk wasn’t in the bunk beside him, and he could hear the tired groan of MJ above him. He quickly snatched it from the table, tiredness forgotten, and slipped out the bedroom door as he answered it.

“Min? Where are you? You aren’t in your bed—”

“Sanhee?”

Sanha stopped his flapping the moment Minhyuk spoke. _Sanhee_ – something he’d only ever been called once before by Minhyuk – was reserved for times when the older boy was feeling especially small.  Something so rare, in fact, that Sanha thought he’d never hear the nickname again. Though it was cute and endearing, it also terrified him – his suspicions had been right: something was _wrong._

“Yeah, it’s me,” he wanted his voice to sound controlled and structured and comforting, but it came out as wobbly as Minhyuk’s did.

There was a sniff, a choked-up sound that Sanha identified as a throat-clearing cough, before he spoke again. “Sanhee? Are you at home?”

Sanha nodded, then shook his head, realising his mistake. “Yeah, Yeah. I’m at home. Where are you?”

Sanha was already shucking on a coat by the front door – it didn’t feel like his, and it smelt faintly of Dongmin. The boy wouldn’t mind, he was sure, and while he locked the door behind him, Minhyuk as muttering out an address Sanha didn’t recognise. He opened it up on his maps, finding it to be the street corner near a park not far from the dorm, something that wouldn’t normally raise much concern – Minhyuk liked walking – but at this time of morning, it was unspeakably dangerous.

Sanha felt queasy walking there, despite the fact it was only ten minutes, but listening to Minhyuk breathing on the end of the line seemed to ground him, soothe him over and give him enough adrenaline to make it there in seven minutes.

When he saw the boy – slumped small and low on the pavement, underneath one of the only working street lights – Sanha’s heart crumpled down to his toes. He knew Minhyuk was crying – he could hear him on the phone – but seeing it up close always made it worse. Horrible images flooded his mind, making him fear _why_ Minhyuk was out here in the first place, and for how long.

He sat down beside him, letting the boy snuggle up to him just as he’d done during the movie – wet face pressed into the curve of his neck, breath fanning across his skin and giving him goose bumps along his arms and legs. In a different situation, Sanha would be embarrassed at his body’s reaction. He had known for some time now that maybe this best friend situation had stretch into something a little bit more for Sanha; but he somehow found it very unlikely it had done the same for Minhyuk. He was fine with that, though, because if it meant he got to keep doing what he did now – hold the boy in his arms, offer comfort and support wherever he could – then he was _satisfied._ He didn’t need more than this, no matter how much his lips craved the taste of his, how badly he wanted to hold his hand in public and tell the world how much he liked him in interviews and at gigs and at fanmeets.

He’d never tell him though, at least not yet, and definitely not _now_. Not now as the boy in question wraps his fingers around Sanha’s skinny wrist, yanking It up this mouth, pressing his wet lips to it in thanks. His eyes – though still weepy – screamed out in exhaustion and defeat. Sanha hadn’t needed to ask – Minhyuk already knew what he wanted to know, why he was out here, all alone, crying as though the world was about to end.

For Minhyuk, though, it felt like it was ending. Sanha did not have any words to say when Minhyuk told him his grandmother had passed on. Sanha had no _words_ , no string of letters that could make anything feel aright or make sense or hold any value. So, he just held the boy close instead, held his hands and kissed his palms, ran his fingers through his hair, not caring that boy was falling asleep against him, that it was nearing half-five in the morning, and that the sun was begging to say hello just around the corner.

 

The third time Sanha had seen him cry, it was a few hours after the second time. Sanha didn’t have to do much to wake him up where he slept on his shoulder, merely just a brush of his fingers down the boy’s cheek. His eyes were red and slightly swollen, still looking remarkably heavy but still beautiful, still _so_ beautiful. They walked wordlessly back to the dorm, the sun starting to rise on their backs, and while their hands were intertwined, Sanha tried to calm his racing heart. It raced for a multitude of reasons: for grief, the grief that Minhyuk was surely feeling raw and heavy now, and would for many months, years; for the feeling of that hand in his, and how warm and familiar it is, and how that was kind of terrifying; for the way that Minhyuk’s eyes looked dry in this lighting, and he was scared that the happiness would be sucked out of him for a long time, and things would get bad again.

They entered the dormitory as silently as they walked, and they dropped down beside each other on the couch, rather than go to the bedroom. Minhyuk had his hand still in his, and it was the tiniest bit sweaty, but then again so was Sanha’s. They were wrapped up in each other in what one could call a hug, but for Minhyuk, right now, Sanha assumed it was the only thing keeping his bones in place. He had this horrible feeling that the moment he let go, Minhyuk would crumble and drip through the cracks in the floorboards. So, instead, he strengthened his hold, let Minhyuk twist in his arms so that they fell back on the cushions. Minhyuk snuggled into Sanha’s chest, legs tangled with his as he got comfortable. He knew they wouldn’t sleep well, or long for that matter; the boys would be awake soon for a morning practice, one that he knew that Minhyuk wouldn’t miss, even for _this_. Even so, he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, dragged it over the shorter body, ignoring his own exposed toes. At some point during the flurry of movement, Minhyuk had raised his head off his chest, and blindly searched out with his lips.

Sanha felt himself freeze; the muscles in his body tightened and not releasing at the feeling of those lips dragging along his jaw, up his cheek, and across just the tiniest bit. Sanha couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped him, the little sigh that let Minhyuk deepen the kiss as much as his half-asleep state could manage. Though the kiss was messy and inexperienced and so _light_ that Sanha thought he had dreamt it, it still made Sanha giddy with alertness. When the boy pulled away, tears running down his cheeks again, Sanha hastily wiped them away with his thumbs. He dragged the boy up closer to him, so his mouth was on his again, so that they could finish that first kiss, _their first_ _kiss_ – which would be, Sanha realised later, the first of many.

 

_Many_ turned out to be the most accurate descriptor – though _many_ may have downplayed it. They were young and very much in love, and from the moment of their first kiss, it seemed like they had been together the entire time. When they were shaken awake by Bin in the morning for practice, Minhyuk had fluttered his eyes open with the tiniest smile teasing on his lips. He didn’t care for the boys bustling around in the lounge around them, pulling on shoes and making coffee and frying eggs. He didn’t care that they could see them and that they were probably being watched. He didn’t _care_ because Minhyuk simple leant forward, like he had done a few hours before, and kissed him right there on the couch. There was morning breathe and a coo from the kitchen, and a gasp from his own lips when licked along his bottom lip. Sanha dragged himself away from the boy when he felt a hand on his waist, reminding him where they were, how exposed everything felt.

From then on, it all just clicked into place. They never spoke about what it was, because they instantly knew – Sanha was Minhyuk’s, and Minhyuk was Sanha’s. There needn’t be any discussion about something you communicated with your heart, anyway. After that, there were kisses in hallways and against doors and in the dance studio when Sanha impressed Minhyuk enough for the reward. There were kisses in bed and on the couch and kisses on good days and the bad days that crept up on them both. There were kisses here, there, and everywhere, and as years past and they grew, so did their feelings.

The first time they made love, Sanha had verbalised how much love he truly felt for the elder, and then teased Minhyuk for crying. But when Minhyuk did _that_ with his hips, Sanha was the one left crying, though for a different reason, and Sanha stopped teasing him after that. After that, Minhyuk would nearly weep at every moment Sanha said _I love you_ , especially when during lunch that time at the mall, Sanha had stolen a fry, slid a navy-blue box across the table to him. Minhyuk raised a brow at him, confused, and nearly fainted when Sanha had shrugged and asked, nonchalantly, “marry me?” He had cried over his fries, much to the delight of the boys who caught the whole thing on tape, and Sanha cried too, over excited, over love, over everything that had gone through at this point.

As more years passed, so did Minhyuk’s tears – during their wedding vows that spring they married; at Sanha’s graduation ceremony from university; when their adoption application was successful and they were finally going to be parents; when their little baby, who Sanha hadn’t allowed to be called anything other than _Minhyuk_ , took their first steps; Minhyuk’s first day of school; at Jin Jin’s and MJ’s own wedding, at their own adoption; at their vow renewals fifty years after that; and the life that followed that; and the years after that; and after that; and after that…

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello!!! [softsocky on tumblr ](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/)


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